


A Night That We Can't Replace

by Agent_Scribe



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M, It's all here folks, Some crying, and a little bit of being horny but only a smidge sorry y'all, inkpot throwing, some yelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Scribe/pseuds/Agent_Scribe
Summary: Gen hangs in the doorway of the side room for a moment, feeling the relief of finally having no eyes on him. A thief can only take so much being looked at. He watches his queen, sitting at her dressing table with her back to him, running her hands through her hair. She is so beautiful and so...vulnerable. His queen. Irene turns. “My king?” she says, smiling.
Relationships: Attolia | Irene/Eugenides
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	A Night That We Can't Replace

**Author's Note:**

> title from Another Place by Bastille. beta'd by the lovely storieswelove thank you so much

It is the end of a long, long day. Heavy heat and heavy stares had followed the monarchs all day, heavy as the crown newly placed on the king’s head. The two have finally retreated to the royal apartments, though it does not feel like much of a retreat to Gen, not with the room full of attendants. He stands in the doorway, watching as the queen’s many attendants hover around her, unlacing, unpinning, turning her from Attolia into Irene. 

“Your Majesty,” a voice says. Gen hears, but doesn’t register they are talking to him until the attendant who said it - one of _his_ attendants - is standing right in front of him, obviously addressing him. Because he, too, is now someone to be addressed as ‘Your Majesty.’ It takes a long moment for him to shake that thought enough to follow the man into a side room. _This is the rest of my life_ , he realizes, looking around at the strangers surrounding him. As the attendants unbutton the various buttons, unclasp the various clasps, removing the wedding clothes layer by layer, Eugenides thinks faintly that he feels no lighter. The attendants, his and hers, drift through the doors and then...they are alone. 

Gen hangs in the doorway of the side room for a moment, feeling the relief of finally having no eyes on him. A thief can only take so much being looked at. He watches his queen, sitting at her dressing table with her back to him, running her hands through her hair. She is so beautiful and so...vulnerable. His queen. Irene turns. “My king?” she says, smiling. 

Gen inhales, feeling the words like a sharp pain in his chest. Oh. Oh gods. He runs his hand over his face, trying to catch his breath. _I am king. Gods above I am_ **_king_ ** . His palms are starting to sweat. The weight and heat of every stare he had felt all day bears down on him, all at once, crushing, unbearable. A butterfly, pinned; a spy, spotted; a thief with nowhere to run. He is _king_. There is no turning back, no changing it now. He is king of Attolia, married to its queen. 

Irene watches him, concerned. Eugenides looks exhausted, wrung out by the long day and the longer weeks before this. She starts to rise, to go to him, when he surges to his feet and crosses to her, kneeling at her feet.  
“Irene, run away with me,” he whispers wildly, taking her hand. His hair is falling across his flushed face and his eyes are bright.  
Irene stares down at him, uncomprehending. "What?"  
"Run away with me, away from all of this.” He is gripping her hand so tightly it almost hurts.   
Of course he wants to run away, she thinks. Of course he wants to leave; the Thief of Eddis has never been one to stay anywhere.  
Pulling her hand away, she stands up. “No.”   
“ _Please_.”  
She steps back, away from him and his pleading eyes, away from the temptation he is laying before her. “Eugenides, no.”  
“I can get us out of here, no one will know until the morning. We could be long gone; they would never find us.” He is reaching for her, crawling closer on his knees, desperate.  
She is still as stone, staring down at him, disappointment shifting to anger. How dare he? “I cannot.”   
"You could! It is possible we could-"  
"No," she cuts him off, stepping back. “I have responsibilities. I am Attolia, I am queen.”  
“You could be Attolia no longer. You could be just Irene, queen of my heart.” 

Of course he does not understand. The duty that keeps her here, the reasons she must stay. Of course he wants to leave, just when she is finally not alone — she stops that train of thought, replacing it with rage. “No, Eugenides. I am queen,” she repeats, and then looking into his eyes, she says coldly, a little cruelly, “And you are king.”

As the words leave Attolia’s mouth, Eugenides crumples, curling in on himself. "This court, these people, they don't deserve you!" he cries. "You deserve so much better than people who see nothing but your power and hate you for it! They will tear you apart and I — I will have to _watch_." He is sobbing now, shaking. 

And suddenly, she sees. She sees how young he is and how scared he is and not, as she had assumed, just for himself. And just like that she too crumples, falling to the floor to reach out to him, comfort him, touch him. “Oh Gen, Gen, I am sorry,” she says, softly. An ugly sob slips out of Gen and he shakes even harder. “I cannot, will not leave, I am sorry,” she says. “I have my duty, and I must keep to it.”  
"And so I must keep to mine as well," he says forlornly, taking a heaving breath.   
"You are king," she says simply, squeezing his hand.  
He lays his head on her lap and laughs like one does when it is either laugh, or cry. " _King_ ," he says, and the word sounds like a curse in his mouth.

There is silence, for a time. Irene strokes his hair, and his tears dry and his mind clears. As he’d expected - but not as he hoped - Irene would not leave. _Onto the next plan, then_ , he thinks.   
"So, I am king" he says, a little sly.  
"You are king," Irene responds, pressing a kiss to his hand.   
He sits up halfway, bracing himself for the coming storm, and says, “As king, then, I am going to reduce the guard.”  
Irene freezes and looks down at him. “No. Absolutely not.”  
“Yes.”  
“First, you want to run away, now you want to reduce my guard.”  
"You've been listening," Gen says, almost smug. He wasn't expecting this to go over so well.  
"Reducing the guard is not an option," Irene says, pulling away from him a little.  
"It needs to be reduced. By half."  
"No."  
"Yes."  
“No!” Irene gets to her feet, starting to pace the room. “No, they are too important!”  
“They are a _threat_.”  
“They are loyal to me!”  
“They are loyal now. They will not always be.”  
“They are loyal!” Irene says again, whirling to face him, her face flushing with anger.

Gen sits up calmly, legs crossed, watching her. “Their loyalty is bought, and loyalty bought is loyalty that can be stolen or lost. It is fickle, unreliable." With every word Irene looks angrier, but Gen pushes on. "Your barons hate you, they hate that you have power instead of them and they will tear you down the moment they have a chance. Your guard is too large, too easily turned against you."  
"They are _loyal_ ," Irene says again, furiously. Her face is flushed, her fists clenched as she stares him down from across the room.  
"For now! They are a threat that could turn against you at any moment!" Gen, stands, starts pacing as well, almost yelling.  
Thoughts flash through Irene’s mind too fast for her to grasp them. Unable to articulate her rage, she reaches for the first thing to hand, and hurls it at Gen’s head. It sails wide, smashing against the wall. She says nothing, breathing shakily.  
Gen stills like a frightened animal, then takes a steadying breath. “If I am king, then this is what I want." He is cold, hard, brittle now.  
“They are loyal to me, Eugenides! They are _loyal_!” Irene's eyes are bright, her hands shaking. Her voice breaks as she says, once again, “They are loyal.” Tears begin to stream down her face.

Gen’s brittle anger breaks as she begins to cry. "Oh, Irene." He rushes over to her and kneels at her feet once more, reaching for her.   
"Don't - you can't - you can't take them from me," she says, tears streaming down her face.  
"I only want to protect you," he says, softly now. "They made you queen, and that means they can unmake you, Irene. You, me, our heirs. If I am to be king, if you will not run away with me, then please, _please_ , let me protect you." Her hand is limp in his, her breathing uneven as she tries to regain composure. "You're not alone anymore," he says, standing and reaching now for her cheek. "Not alone."   
She takes a deep, shuddering breath and rests her cheek against his hand, closing her eyes. _Not alone..._ After a long moment she looks at him. “You can do whatever you want to the royal guard," she says slowly, "if...you can get Teleus to agree."  
Gen looks up at her, holding himself very still, surprise sparking through his thoughts. Then he laughs. “My clever, clever queen,” he says, eyes sparkling. “You will make me work for everything you give me."   
“Oh, yes,” she responds. “For every little thing.”  
And he smiles up at her, a smile of adoration and anticipation and a little mischief, as Irene takes his hand and leads him to the bed.

Afterwards, Gen breaks a comfortable quiet to say, “They hate me, you know. They hate me for marrying you. They hate me because they cannot imagine anyone loving you as a woman, not as a queen; for who you are, not for your power. They do not see you, Irene. And I hate them for that.”  
Irene rolls over to face him and sighs. "Does your brain never stop?"  
"Never. Always thinking."  
"Always _scheming_ , you mean," she says, curling his hair with her finger.   
"Are they any different?" he asks with a grin.  
"Hmmm, not to you." She kisses him, smiling against his mouth.   
Gen sighs. “And because of them, I must sneak about like a mistress or a burglar to come to my wife.”  
“It’s never bothered you before,” Irene kisses his nose. “Have I made you an honest citizen by marrying you?”  
“There are many people who wish you had, I’m sure.”  
“But not I. You are my Thief as well as my king. I would not have it any other way.”  
Gen kisses her, tangling his hand in her hair. “Your wish is my command, my queen.”  
“Is that so…” She trails a finger down his side, drawing little circles on his dark skin.   
He shivers under her touch. “Yes, my queen.”  
Leaning over, she breathes into his ear, “Tonight you serve: tomorrow, you rule.”


End file.
